


Star-gazing

by RavenGrey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, star-gazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't much care for the stars, he can agree with most that they are pretty, but that's the end of it. John, however, loves the stars and in Sherlock's mind, that makes them very important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star-gazing

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, that summary is terrible. Sorry 'bout that. Another prompt.

         Sherlock was all but bouncing with excitement, a genuine, lovely smile on his lips. Not that John could see it, as he currently had Sherlock’s scarf tied tight round his eyes. “Just a little bit farther, John.” Sherlock soothed quietly when John made a slightly aggrieved sound, having tripped over an upraised patch of ground as he took a few steps away from the cab he’d just exited. They’d traveled quite a ways and he’d spent most of the time blind folded, the set sun not helping to better his limited vision at all. He heard Sherlock pay the cabbie, who undeniably sounded amused, followed by shutting of the cab door as Sherlock retrieved whatever devious things he’d brought with him.

         John had been blindfolded in the flat while he searched the web on his laptop by an ecstatic Sherlock and then led down the stairs, not before Sherlock had sneakily placed a picnic basket into the floor board of his side of the cab he’d stopped. He hadn’t put up much resistance, just a “Come on, Sherlock.” In a tone that most certainly wasn’t whiny. Alright, it was. But his shoulder was aching and Sherlock had kept him out all night and he was tired.

       Blinded and led by Sherlock, he had been ushered out of the flat while Mrs. Hudson giggled in her kitchen and Sherlock very nearly vibrated with excitement from behind him. A long, admittedly nerve wracking drive had brought them to where they currently are, Sherlock’s free hand tucked under his elbow in a gentlemanly fashion as he led them to their pre-arranged destination. Sherlock’s eyes flitted to John’s face, slipping down catch on the half smile that graced John’s lip as he was lead over bumpy terrain. “Almost.” Sherlock’s voice is clear and echoes pleasantly in the chilly air, the note of joy present although he’s attempting to mask it.

         John wants to be upset, he really does, but whatever has Sherlock in such a kuffufle is obviously very important to him and John is very eager to see just what it is. They walk for a ways, Sherlock’s arm never leaving John’s and John’s fingers never losing the tight grip they have on Sherlock’s forearm. “Are we there yet?” John’s voice is sardonic and he gives a startled laugh when Sherlock purposefully trips him up, keeping him on his feet but causing him stumble.

         “Arse.” John says, laughing as he grabs Sherlock’s arm with both hands, his head turning in Sherlock’s direction. Sherlock grins widely and keeps the two of them moving, the picnic basket hanging off his other arm. Inside are tow blanket, a bottle of champagne and an assortment of foods. One of which being a pasta Mrs. Hudson had prepared, wrapped in a heat sealing container and had lovingly packed for the two of them. “Alright,” Sherlock told John finally, when he’d a nice, elevated bit of ground that suited his needs. He stopped John from reaching up yank of his blindfold with a quick hand “A second if you will.” Sherlock asked politely, his tone oddly formal. He took a step back, and once sure John intended to reply, set about the business of laying the bigger of the two blankets.

        Confused by the sound, John frowned slightly, the loss of one of his key senses highly unnerving. “Sherlock.” John called out hesitantly, allowing his unease to fill his voice. “Just a second more, honey bunch.” The words were spoken softly, the barest hint of a purr audible. John's lips quirked upwards at the pet name, a quiet snort leaving him as waited for Sherlock. Quickly setting out the dish wear as silently as possibly, Sherlock arranged the food and drink in an appealing manner, and after a swift glance to make sure everything was in the right place, Sherlock moved to remove the blindfold.

        John’s first sight upon opening his eyes was Sherlock, as had turned sharply to keep him in his line of sight. The second, after ensuring Sherlock’s safety, was what appeared to be an honest to God candle lit dinner under the stars while moonlight bathed over them. John’s mouth flopped open and Sherlock’s delighted laughter accompanied the action, slender hands smoothing over his shoulders from behind as Sherlock placed a kiss against the side of John’s throat. The stars were bright over hand, unencumbered by the bothersome lights of the city. It was beautiful and John was stricken by it.

        Sherlock watched John’s response with a feeling of rapt pleasure, the wonder on his face making every bit of the effort he’d put into this worth it. John’s stomach rumbled as he caught sight of the dinner Sherlock had set out, pasta, salad and fresh bread rolls all laid out on separate plates, a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. How Sherlock had managed that, John didn’t want to know. Over all, it was incredibly impressive and John was sincerely touched. “Sherlock…” John’s voice was thick and he cleared his throat as he tried again “I… Oh.” Sherlock was smiling now, the small sliver of doubt that had wormed it’s way into his mind banished as he circled around John quickly, a finger going to his lips. “Shush.” He scolded quietly as he took both of John’s hands into his own, leading him to the blanket.

       His knees bent and he sank gracefully to the ground. John followed with considerably less grace and a loud huff. “It’s about time.” He bit out playfully, his face comically serious. Sherlock grinned, the expression joyful, and nuzzled his nose against John’s. They ate then, sipping at the champagne that Sherlock had poured and enjoying one another’s company as the stars and the moon played of their skin. After dinner, the candles blown out, the cuddled together under the second blanket while sipping their drinks, sharing sweet kisses as they gazed at the stars. Sherlock had, for just this purpose, committed to memory each of the constellations that dotted the night sky and supplied the names and stories behind each when his John asked. And later, when the moon was at its brightest, they fell to sleep, wrapped in each and wonderfully blissful and perfectly content to just lie in each others arms as the night waned.


End file.
